


One or the Other.

by garmentedGadgeteer



Series: Quadratic Nonsense [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: 2nd Person / Dave Strider, 2nd Person / John Egbert, 2nd Person / Karkat Vantas, Alien Romance, Ancestor Mentioning, Explanations, Improper Dating, Intermissions, Ironic Indulgence, Mistletoe, Multi, quadrant shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:44:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garmentedGadgeteer/pseuds/garmentedGadgeteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat, being the bored on as he is, was delightfully resting having the entire bland day planned out, which to say, included nothing. However, this was shortly terminated when the cerulean blooded troll, Vriska, found him under a piece of vegetation far out of season, which to say, escalated into some quite unmanageable things.<br/>Cahoots.<br/>But not for long.<br/>And then, a choice is given.<br/>For him to follow his dream, or the one he fell in love with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love doesn't grow on trees

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you were unsuspecting of the vegetation above you. If you were you were to notice, it would be one piece indigenous to wintry culture for humans: mistletoe. And who came to catch you under it would be unexpected. Things weren’t going to pan out as you planned this day, and changing from nothing to correlation is rare. But possible.

“Oh Karkaaaaaaaat.”

Vriska’s voice caught you off-guard, and what followed did as well.

“I caught you under the mistletoe.”

“You mean that god awful plant that fucking represents kissing another without their consent if one wishes to indulge in such activity with them?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I didn’t know you had those affections toward me.”

“I don’t; I only wish for a kiss to shut you up.”

You were about to retort her response, but then her nose touched yours, and even before she let her plan go through fruition, you were quiet. Deathly quiet.

“Now, I wish for both of us to partake in this kiss; nothing violent, just a sweet one, capiche?”

A nod was drawn from you, and your lips slowly touched. It wasn’t anything substantial, nor was it passionate; however, it did show a side of the Serket you had no idea existed: compassion. There were no snide remarks, or even a sneer. She wanted this to be perfect, and you complied with her. Even if it was your first time and never having a prior experience, you knew this an impeccable one, and you embraced the experience, even if it was with—with Vriska.

You never saw yourself doing this, but it happened. And it happened to escalate quickly.

Too quickly.

She pulled away, and chuckled at your awed face. _Of course she would find this humorous._ You were enraged, but her sarcastic—but still sadistic—face made you not slap the shit out of it, besides, you did not want her to observe your conflicted mind. It would be quite awkward, considering you _actually wanted another kiss._

You walked away slowly, acting as nonchalant as you could be. The actions did not help; however, she herself was slyly approaching you, undetected.  Before you were, quote on quote, attacked, you saw her sick face again: its surface filled with a grin.

“I snuck myself a view of your think pan, and IIIIIIII found out some interesting truths.”

“Was it that I fucking hated your affections?”

“No, you wanted more.”

As much as you wanted to disprove her, she was not wrong. You _did_ want another kiss. You were conflicted, confused on what to reply with. Her hair flowed down onto yours, since she had to be on fucking top. Unable to create a suitable response, you let out a disgusted frown upon her.

“And I’ll give you more.”

Taken aback, your face changed slightly, but notably. Another chuckle rose from her, in response to the changing of it. She lowered down, and placed her lips against your once more; it was longer, and deeper. Once she sopped, you felt obliged to follow suit, and reciprocate with a better one.

A smirk replaced her grin.

Semi-surprised, you manage to inquire: “Does this mean you were hitting on me?”

“Oh come on Karkat, stop being so oblivious.”

“Red or black?”

“You know it was red as your fucking blood.”

“Fair enough.”

“The only question is… Do you feel the same?”

“I guess so, considering the circumstances.”

“Which are…?”

“You were my last resort.”

“Let me guess, you wanted Terezi.”

“Big time.”

“And considering how I am your last resort when it comes to flush crushes…”

“I lost all hope.”

“I should probably leave now then,” she slowly started to stand.

“… But I never truly met the real Serket.”

“Oh?”

“I never got to meet you fully, did I?”

“Huh, you never actually did.”

“Exactly.”

A smirk filled your face, pleased with how you saved the day, and how you—

You forgot about her telepathic abilities.

Shit.

“Karkat, are you just playing with me?”

“As a sworn leader, I would never fucking kid.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that, but really, are you playing with me?”

“It’s not like I have anyone else to turn to.”

“So you’re not playing with me, since you couldn’t get anyone else.”

You were dead silent for a few seconds.

“Well?”

“There’s no doubt we’re going to correlate,” you pause, “but the major question is: Open, or cahoots?”

“Oh come oooooooon Karkat, isn’t the answer obvious?”

“No; go on.”

“I have enough irons in the fire, so no need to add even moooooooore.”

“Okay, with that covered,” you look around to see if anyone is watching: No one is, “where?”

“The little crab is planning a romantic date, is he not?”

“No need to rub my fucking height in.”

“Oh I won’t, at least for a **SHORT** while, aha.”

You now rue the day she learned how to abuse puns, which to say, was a long while ago.

And when you mean a long while ago, you mean when you made her, so-to-speak. Actually, no, you literally made her with ecto-fucking-plasm.

“Not like I constantly retort with you being the biggest bitch in paradox spa-“

She cut you off.

With a kiss.

With--

Tongue.

Ew.

However, in reality, you cannot say that you hate her for doing this. It was enjoyable, after all, and just because you being in fucking cahoots does not mean you cannot cut her some _slack._ That is pity, right?

Dear god you hope that is pity.

She smirked as usual, but she was pulling away from a sickeningly one-sided kiss with “unwanted” tongue; shoving it down your protein chute was not on your list of things to do today.

“Well, I appear to have foooooooound the crab’s soft spot, didn’t I?”

“Oh shut up, Vriska, if you gave any senseless wriggler a kiss they’d respond exactly like I did.”

“So you’re saying that you belong in that group?”

“ ** _FUCK NO._** ”

“Whatever you say, Vantas.”

She bids you ado with a shit-eating grin that she knows you dutifully hate, and that you are willing to wipe away from any fucking troll. But alas, you’re not going to fuck things over with your matesprit.

At least, whilst it lasts.

Which to say is going to be short-lived.

_Very short-lived._


	2. Show them your girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat, being the one who wishes not for a private relationship seeks others to expend his "cahoots" with them, albeit, with mixed results.

Now upon a regular human’s arbitrary form of romance, you only have one form of it:  the sickly pasted “<3”s in chat clients showing your love. And with this, you have a primitive understanding of this situation, since it appears not to be love.

It appears to be a futile rivalry.

While the romance of trolls is most commonly perceived as quadrants, this is not entirely so. It may be true that only half of the quadrants are used for reproduction, it does not directly state that the feelings cannot be transcended to other quadrants.

Here we come to the total mind-fuckery.

The situation at hand appears to be a childish scrimmage at best, but in reality, it is the pure essence of troll romance in its convoluted glory: Dark hearts. Dark hearts is when a romantic couple of the flushed variety have trivial arguments and whatnot, sometimes resulting in miniscule bloodshed. They show a beyond weak connection with their partner, but somehow, these kinds of pairings produces viable and rather strong material.

It is because their strength is rooted in two zones.

Likewise, red spades is when the partner is not entirely hateful towards their partner, moreover a general but not strong hatred. They tend to their partners after pailing sessions, healing their wounds thoroughly, unlike a true spades where you will leave the partner to heal without your care.

And you thought this was the end of it.

You’re dead wrong.

The two other quadrants as well have an impact on these shenanigans; this amounts to the rather large list of possible quadrant-combinations: Red spades, pale spades, ashen spades, black hearts, pale hearts, ashen hearts, red diamonds, black diamonds, ashen diamonds, red clubs, black clubs, and finally, pale clubs. Not wanting to explain, you can deduce the results of such.

(Disclaimer: No matter the variation of the pale quadrant, the material given from their intercourse produces close to no material, and cannot be used to create offspring.)

Now back to the story.

While you wished greatly to disclose this new coming between you and Vriska, you wish to steer away from such conversation, hoping your lover follows suit. It would be ugly for an asymmetrical story; one side being true, the other false.

God, being in cahoots can be stressful—even when you are not in public.

Welp.

You stay calm as you enter the main room with an unprecedented amount of coolness, setting the others looks with stunned glares, only for them to fade, and replaced with nonchalant smirk as they notice you can actually see them. Sometimes you even wonder _how_ they made it this far.

But today, you must keep your fucking cool.

Even if it means plastering a grin.

Shit-eating grin, of course.

What other kind of grin would suffice? No others, that’s what.

Dave raised an eyebrow in your direction, confused by the sudden change of behavior. “Eh, it’s Mr. Krabs,” he lightheartedly responds, “are you feelin’ it?”

“I am certainly feeling something, but it is not positive; try a fucking urge to castrate your alien genitals.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to get to THAT base so quickly.”

“You know goddamn well I’m not hitting on you.”

“I know, it’s just how you cute you act when you respond.”

“Bitch, what did you call me?”

“I’m not an expert on your romantic shit, but seriously, don’t you have a kisme-whoswasit?”

“Kismesis, and for your information, those were not caliginous thoughts. They were _ashen.”_

“Mr. Krabs, do you know how may fucks I—”

“—Give? Is the answer the fucking blatant percentage of usefulness you are?”

“Man, I don’t give 100 fucks, that isn’t just possi—”

“ _FUCK YOU, I MEANT ZERO.”_

“Oh.”

You turn away from the befuddled Strider, practically scolding yourself but that is not the point; you wish to speak to the shocked Lalonde.

You need an analytic person to talk to.

“Well that fucking useless.”

“Dave can be that way, yes,” she still uses her fancifully enunciated voice; it is somewhat sickening.

“Well, that’s fucking great,” you sneer at her, showing that you wish not to talk about Dave, “anyway, I have some news that the untrustworthy Strider would turn into a shitty rap and retort it for all to hear.”

“You clearly also wish to talk about matters that he cannot comprehend, correct?”

“That’s the gist, yeah.”

“Then tell me.”

You spent short work of escorting the Lalonde to a secret room, not wanting Dave eavesdrop at all; you do not need someone else to hear about your romantic ramifications. Speaking of which, you also made short work of that topic, trying to be discreet upon the details.

Except whom you are with.

You were just discreet on how you feel about her.

… Hardly.

Not used to this kind of openhearted conversation, you inadvertently add in mushy details that you would hate yourself for doing.

Not like you don’t already.

She blinked once before responding, lightly adjusting her godtier hood. “That was quite, thorough, lacking a better term,” she sighs, “and that’s something, considering to whom I’m referring to.”

“It’s the same with all you humans: You can’t grasp troll romance.”

“No, that’s not the issue.”

“Then what the fuck is?”

“It’s with whom you’re correlating with.”

“Still an extension of stupidity.”

“How so?”

“Our romance in the flushed quadrant may look as if it mirrors yours, but it is not a fucking match.”

“Then enlighten me, your highness,” oh my fucking god, she even made that sound fancy.

You really hate it when she… gives you a condescending feeling?

Shit, what’s the opposite of patronize?

“Oh my fucking god.”

“Are you…”

No no no no no no no no—

“Triggered?”

“Way to go, Lalonde, bringing in my fucking dancestor into a trivial argument for quixotic purposes.”

“I see my sesquipedalian ways have rubbed off onto my ‘protégé.’”

“Rose, do you want me to leave right now? Because I can see your god-awful attitude rolling in.”

“Do you think I wish to be serious if I keep playing with you, hmm?”

“Yeah, no, I milked all the fucking seriousness out of you, and now all you’re giving me is condensed bullshit.”

And you left without even issuing a warning, strutting to the next troll available to let your problems out on.

Kanaya it is.

“Hello Karkat, is there an issue you wish to resolve?”

“Let me make this brief, and lacking the details.”

“You’re intriguing me, go on.”

You then do not fret to a modified story of your correlation with Vriska, leaving out the immense amount of ridiculing details provided in the unabridged version that you gave to Rose.

“That is quite the tale, Karkat.”

“It’s an actual fucking occurrence.”

“And you hope for me to help you how?”

“Moreover I want to not make it fucking cahoots like we promised, but not annoy her.”

“That is rather meddling.”

“It’s still cahoots to some extent.”

“Literal definitions aiding you; just so you can blurt out anything you wish to a selective few.”

“Yeah yeah, bye Maryam. I got enough shit sorted out with you.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, going to your next victim—you mean contestant, of course.

To win the prize of your raving about bullshit romance.

Yeah.

Totally worth it.

You arrive at Sollux’s desk, placing a hand down on it, showing that if he didn’t notice you coming—even with your stomping—that he would know you are there.

And when your friend’s blind, that’s invaluable.

“Sup KK.”

“Wait, are you actually fucking coding?”

“Yeah, it’s for some energy-to-matter conversion shit.”

“You’re blind.”

“So?”

“Ugh, stuff like this infuriates me.”

“So you’d rather for me to fucking stop my important work, and fit your classification of a blind troll?”

“It would make this god-awful hellhole much less bizarre.”

You made Sollux sigh in discontent, lovely job. Now he is going to raise his hand, and pap you on the fucking head.

Actually, no, it could be anywhere.

Even including your…

“There there, you little shit.”

You cannot believe this.

Sollux Captor is papping your crotch.

“ _SOLLUX WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ALMIGHTY BULLSHIT?”_ You swatted his hand away, slapping him quite hard.

“Well boo hoo, a blind troll almost rubbed your nook. And at least I fit your description better.”

“Sollux Captor, you are in no suitable position to receive the information I was about to disclose to you. Good fucking day.”

“But KK I—”

You left the Captor boy hanging, the blind one.

You left your friend uninformed on a topic.

To be honest, you felt terrible for not letting him know, but you are not letting your exterior show it. To show that you are not weak.

To show that you are a compulsive liar.


	3. Are you guilty?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two lovers go on a date, of which escalates to some proportions of intercourse, but is then thwarted by a revelation pertaining to Terezi.  
> A chance, but one full of sorrow, and heartbreak.

After a long day of secretly telling your friends about you and Vriska’s “cahoots,” you finally meet up with your cerulean lady once more. However, this date will be your last, as well as your first. A shipwrecked relationship will be yours, before it even sails.

Vriska crept in the main level, observing the finished device Sollux possessed. Luckily, he was fast asleep in his recuperacoon, dreaming the endless hours spent on the meteor. She told you she was making something fancy, and edible: Something grub related, you assume, after all, that was a majority of the food was on Alternia.

Moreover, sometimes change does not need to happen.

She held out a basket containing the food inside; it smelled wonderful, even if a bit…

Synthetic.

Vriska ushered you up to the top of the meteor, finding a cave nestled far in the outskirts of it. You don’t want to be found, because you two are in…

Cahoooooooots.

“Okay, so what is this fucking fiasco called again?”

“Oh Kaaaaaaaarkaaaaaaaat, you know this won’t be the plaything of a meddler.”

“Fine fine, the plaything of a _natural_ disaster.”

“Shut up, Karkrab, I got enough irons in the fire.”

You grunted, finally arriving at a remote cave, serving its purpose of being in the center of nowhere.

Perfect.

You lumbered into it, sitting your ass down before you were instructed to. “Karkat, stand up.”

“Why?”

“I need to put the fucking blanket down.”

“Well then.”

You, the cancerian, stood up abruptly before the Serket placed the plaid quilt down onto the bland, grey floor of the cavern. She grunted, shoving you back down, and placing the basket between you two. It was full of assorted food items, from grubghetti to grubgheni to just grubsauce; beverage-wise there was grubcider, but it is just a diluted grubsauce costing extra.

You did not mind if you do when you indulged yourself with these exotic foods.

Nor did Vriska.

You were being civilized gentletrolls when you refrained from speaking with your mouth full, but this ploy slipped at times, sometimes becoming contests pertaining to the food. It was quite the fun time, and you looked forward to your next date.

If this one was over, which it is clearly not.

She had said this was only half of the date, and that the other half would be completed whilst on a much more comfortable surface. Apparently, she meant the absurd human bed.

She also left out exactly what these actions would be.

Once you came back into the interior of the meteor, she took you to a random room perchance, chance being her prime attribute, after all. But this decision will bite you in the ass, soon, and most definitely hard.

Because this is Terezi’s block and Dave decided to let her go.

She practically shoved you onto the bed, looking into your eyes as she was above her tasty little crab. “Oh my, it appears as if I aaaaaaaaccidentally got Karkat into bed with guess who? Meeeeeeee!”

“Oh, okay then.”

“Did you think I would let such a tasty morsel leave without pleasing me?”

“Fair point, fair point.”

A recognizable smirk fills her face as she semi-mischievously removed your sweater, brushing her hands against your sensitive grub scars. All she got from you were some coos, and that was it. You were bottoming her, yeah, but you do **not** need to become a passive doormat.

Vriska rested your back against the bedpost, smiling legitimately as she rested her head atop of yours. She was being calm, cool, as she removed your pants, including what was underneath them, still soothing you, and showing you a side of her you never thought existed.

In addition, it was quite endearing of her to do so.

This, which to your knowledge, only lasted a few minutes at best, not sufficient for sexual climax, but nonetheless, it was pleasuring. Just not… Rousing. She had only been touching it, and the cerulean blood had exerted no real skill. Teasing—what she would have called it—was crucial for her, it was to better herself for the exhausting session up ahead. Unluckily/luckily, she was stopped by some grotesque sound… It was…

You heard sobs. Gross sobs.

Vriska rose her head the exact moment Terezi barged into her quarters, practically running towards the bed that you were situated on, before stopping suddenly. “Wait,” she lets out between sniffs, “is that… cherry cough syrup with the hint of blueberries?”

Shit.

She sniffed some more, before she deduced the point. “Oh, there is a minute chance I walked into a pailing session, didn’t I?” she inquired.

“NO SHIT, PYROPE,” Vriska yelled in response.

“We have no time for you, Vriska,” Terezi snarked.

The cerulean blood sneered at Terezi when she stood on the bed, jumping when she could catch the other off-guard. You forced yourself to reside on the bed, naked… Speaking of which, hiding in the covers would be applicable right now.

You were not exactly sure what you saw, but you knew what this would amount to: Black romance.

The way they hated each other, how they moved, how they did not fight to hurt immensely, merely aid their foreplay.

It is called a _duel_ if it is for caliginous acts, and it may include nicks, cuts, bruises, but no gaping wounds: You had better keep your partner alive, otherwise it voids the relationship.

But a quadrant shenanigan you were unaware of at the time was the spade transfer.

The spade transfer is not when you give a shovel to someone else; it is when a troll already in a kismesistude finds a partner they loath _even more_. It is an instinct, since stronger relationships of such caliber are crucial to reproduction.

Even if they are lacking a drone and/or mother grub.

This will leave the troll spadesbroken, and will probably initiate an ashen relation between the two fragmented haters.

As you watched the two duke their sexual relationship out, it reminds you of something…

A movie of sorts.

“The two ancestors met for a number of times, becoming apparent haters in said quadrant. They were animals, ravenous, rambunctious, but never once had pailed. However, Mindfang wished to change the approach with her kismesis, Neophyte... They will become 'tangle buddies', so to speak. It was a chilly night, beckoning the Neophyte to a secure place, and to her dismay, the closest was Mindfang's ship. She cursed while entering it, finding it to be dimly lit, almost to induce seduction. It was not seductive, more haphazardly lazy. She sat herself down, not aware that she was going to be caught soon, and helped herself to the available tea. Redglare took her usual preference: Two plumps of sugar and a splash of grub sauce. Boring minutes passed, and before the ancestor left the galleon, an unexpected turn occurs: She is hit upside the head with a metallic pan of sauce purposes, promptly falling onto the ground unconscious. Her captor, Marquise, stripped her of her clothes, binding the teal blood to her wall, examining her most nether of regions. Why yes, she was enjoying herself, and this would prove for when the other woke. She was groggy, and befuddled, for pans can invoke such nature. To her disdain, when she regained thinking capabilities, she could not move, not one inch. She cursed not so silently, and her blackest of lovers noticed, retorting snidely. Neophyte examined her, noticing the amount of clad leather covering her. She was dressed as an unbelievably sexy dominatrix, and she could not stop from salivating at the sight; she was also drugged, big time. She walked up, whip at hand as she—”

—Time to stop remembering.

Also, the situation that was presented to you differed in some easily identifiable senses:

  1. There was no drugging;
  2. There was no one being knocked out;
  3. There was no tea;
  4. There was no seductive black leather;
  5. The positions were swapped.



Despite the obvious differences, you were presented in such an event of awkwardness—for you, at least—and that you would only screw things over more, so you simply decide to dress yourself, and omit the one variable: you.

You nonchalantly walk out of the room, whistling lightly.

Rose spots you, trying to resist the chuckle, which only resulted in her making gigglesnorts. “Oh look, it’s Vantas,” she states in between her unsophisticated laughs, “how’d the date go?”

“It went dandy, until fucking Terezi stole her.”

“Oh yeah, about that.”

“Are you saying that there is a reason that she stormed into that specific room?”

“You were in her quarters, weren’t you?”

“I don’t fucking know, maybe?”

“Taking that as a yes, then there is a perfectly legitimate reason _why_ she sobbed to her block.”

“Elaborate.”

“She had a breakup with Dave, that is all to say on the manner.”

“So you’re saying she’s free?”

“Yes, yes she is.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“My.”

“What now?”

“FUCKING GOD.”

“Spacing it out did help it, but why did you retort with such negativity?”

“I can’t let down somebody I already feel flushed for, it’s taboo.”

“Well then, you better decide who you want.”

“That will be fucking difficult.”

“Of course, because thinking out some flamboyant plan is unthought-of.”

You grunt, standing up to travel to your block, trying to fall asleep in your coon, but there is one issue with your sleep: You need to make a decision, and soon.

Otherwise, you won’t have a significant other.


	4. Unruly Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat cannot deal with the utter bullshit arising from having two of his loves... hate each other. Not that it disturbs him, it's just that he has to choose, and choose he does; which leads to him being the one at the mercy of being loathed.  
> God, alien romance sure is weird.

While your society has the concept of “cheating” on your partner, troll romance does not account for this variable. It simply puts it as a way of life, at least when it comes to caliginous, but when it comes to the flushed quadrants, it is simply done differently.

Cheating is a term used in troll culture as finding a new partner for a certain quadrant without telling your current one/not being in consent. However, cheating can become a nuisance when paired with the quadrant variations: A heart used for cheating must be of untainted coloration; otherwise, it seeps into the other relationship. It is because trolls are adamant when it comes to how they treat a partner, and when they have multiple ones, swapping between behaviors can be cumbersome. It is a common sign for same-quadrants fillers to act erratically when not given time to transition properly between their two partners.

It is an innate impediment.

Considering how your two love interests (one being your actual significant other), one could clearly see how unmatched they are. Terezi was the one you adored for a large portion of your life, but you were waiting for the right moment to get her, and none of the times before this seemed so.

Now, it appears to be even more convoluted.

You are currently with Vriska, a lovable lady that you had not considered as a red lover until now, when you “got to see the real Serket.”  This relationship, however, could never coincide with a “cheating” occurrence with Terezi.

Black hearts and pure hearts do not mix.

There is absolutely no favorable condition where no one is hurt. You must break one of their hearts, or face your fate: Breaking your own. If only this was in simpler times, then you wouldn’t have to condone with this… this shithole of a love life.

Sometimes you wish ending your life would fix this.

But no.

Ending your life would only prolong your suffering, and would infuriate others. You were their sworn leader, a bold and strong troll, extroverted beyond compare. You were a model, a celebrity if you must, but you had flaws.

And they didn’t all pertain to your blood.

People were always aware of your orneriness, and they ridiculed you for that. In hindsight, you sometimes wish you could have taught your team about the entirety of your feelings, your emotions, and your eternal bane; the bane that lived with you since your brooding. The everlasting bane you were bestowed of fighting for emotion…

—you are the Knight of Blood.

Because of your title, you had been the most emotionally susceptible, the most incredibly sensitive, but you hid it under a layer of anger, being peeved at every mistake, every nuance from your plans; even things that other trolls would let pass you put an iron fist on, sending them to flush their idea out. You gave them what they deserved, and you in turn punished yourself to be fair, to be hard on yourself, to show that you were a leader, not a wimp.

You were never a wimp.

You had dubious thoughts about being one, though.

You thought every small idea you had that was slightly wrong, was entirely wrong, and every small negotiable thing you did terribly, you hassled yourself for this exact reason. You were not being a true leader, you were being a self-loather.

The reasons why are quite trivial.

It was because you rue everything about yourself that cannot be changed.

You sigh; noticing you have not even left your coon, since your feeling jam with yourself left you distracted. Even with that session covering every egotistical basis around _you_ , it still didn’t leave a verdict between your two potential lovers.

God—

—Fucking—

—Dammit.

You have the potential to reach one, however. But contrary to what you just stated, it doesn’t even remotely help.

You have the question: Spider bitch or fantasy?

You have a short bio on each:

Vriska:

 A misunderstood troll whom was hated since she was dubbed as an all-consuming egocentric flaw, but this is not true. She fed her lusus the bodies of young trolls since it had an unquenchable appetite; she had no other choice, and she was stuck with it ‘till the day her lusus died.

 

Terezi:

 A judicial and judgmental troll whom is not unwelcoming to the prospect of extreme legislaceration, and for a rather good reason; like how threshecutioning would have been your forte. She is quite the quirky one, trying to slap a grin onto her face, but this is also her downfall: She can get quite emotional when the time suits her passionate outbursts, which to say, is practically never.

Even if you allocated them with their negative and positive attributes, you still have mixed feelings.

 _Very_ mixed feelings.

It would be astounding if you could just call a meeting, and let the two duke it out for them to become your designated matesprit…

You could totally do that, but it would be impractical at best.

Because really, there’s no other shit to do on a barren hellhole known as this meteor.

 _Leader responsibilities_ are what allow you to call this meeting, and it is a frenzied attempt to actually sound meaningful, which this is not to the current situation at hand: Anything on the meteor itself. Oh well, you have another year.

Another.

Heartrending.

Year.

“Let me lay down the most incredibly imbecilic reasoning in the most unorthodox excuse for a meeting…”

“I think you mean most of your meetings, Kaaaaaaaarkaaaaaaaat.”

“Wow, you dragging the A’s out really emphasize your _loooove_ for him,” Terezi cackles, nearly falling out of her seat.

“… Any-fucking-who, there seems to be some stress in my quadrants, concerning you and Terezi, Vrisk-”

“WHAT.”

“Oh boy, this shit again. Why can’t you just confess how you go horn-over-heels when you spot me, thank you very much adorabloodthirsty leader, or should I say…”

“Oh god no.”

“What is she going to say?”

“YOUR IMPERIOUS DOUCHEBAGGERY.”

“And this is why you never let a Pyrope discuss romancing.”

“…”

“Nah I’m just kidding. Go on with your whatsit shit.”

“… Okay. As I was saying, there is a minute chance that I feel flushed for both of you, not equally of course, since one _relationship_ had to become a teensy bit… caliginous.”

“Pfft, it’s just mixing in some fucking spades. Get with the program, crabby.”

“If you’re implying I should see the issue, I don’t.”

“Oh my fucking god. If you could shut your blathering speech openings for just one _lousy_ minute, it would be a fucking miracle, mirthful.”

“Looks like you’re taking lessons from your moirail, huh?”

“Or do you mean my former kiss—me—sis.”

“What.”

“If you so wish me to, Pyrope,” she blew Terezi a kiss and before you knew it, they were biting each other’s lips.

“… Do I need to intervene this spectacular display of spades that is shoveling out the last ounces of dignity in your thinkpans?”

“Oh shush, I know you’ll get off to this, Karkat.”

“Pfft, maybe he’ll take a lesson from his dancestor on how to position his bulge over a bucket.”

“… Yeah, six-hundred twelve-fucking percent done here.”

And so you waited, ad infinitum (or whatever these fucking archaic foreign languages in human history mean) for closure. It never came: They didn’t seem… “Down to fuck.”

~~Strider prose is the best prose.~~

Another phenomena in troll romance is about to occur,  and it is infamously called…

The dense-flipping-caused-by-grubbish-behavior-in-black-quadrants fiasco, or more commonly referred to as the caliginous-ashen reach-around.

God, clichés.

The black-flop (which is what the reach-around will be called for the entirety of this explanation) is when a common event in the hatred-centered parts of romance: A caliginous relationship loses its “zing” because the contenders have no strong, sexual hate, per se. It could be because a third-party member whom wishes to intervene between the two nullifies the relationship which in itself required no rectification; or just because they hate someone far more.

But in this scenario, there’s an extra twist.

Surprise, spades transfer.

Since this has occurred, both parties have lost a partner in true hate, and because of this, the teal-blooded troll in the situation crawls back to their post-drug addict juggalo; the cerulean-babe has to find yet _another_ person to loathe in a concupiscent sense. But whom?

The entirely new and most of all, confusing tactic used in troll romance to prevent the otherwise imminent polygamy: The intensity swap.

It requires two trolls, whom still have a mutual bond with each other—platonic or no—have someone else more befitted for their quadrant already occupied. _However_ , they have to have the relationship’s intensity, in the quadratic sense, to be rooted in two areas: Black hearts is a common choice for this. Since it is only a nuance in this entire ploy of things, the clock keeps ticking.

But you may be pondering to yourself, what if there is already someone loitering in this poor troll’s quadrant, not getting the true love/hate/feeling-jam/intervention they deserve?

The answer is tragic: They get dumped.

The origin of this term is quite culturally insensitive, since it revolved around the highbloods’ desire to decimate the lowblooded population; the few whom bonded with these “peasants” would be ridiculed to a point where, having no better decision, had to breakup with this troll. It may be referred to ‘dumping’ because some were thrown into the trash; others were ‘broken-up with’ since they were literally turned into a cripple and left out to die on the Alternian landscape.

And that, my friends is why the Beforian culture is vastly more harmonious and important to lead a proper understand—

Hrrk.

No more Kankri for you.

Now now now, let’s inspect the quadrants of our fellow ~~friends~~ people we’re not going to kill because the sake of our races depend on it.

 

**QUADRANTS**

* * *

DAVE:

Flushed: ~~Terezi~~ empty

Caliginous: Empty

Pale: Terezi

Ashen: Karkat w/ Kanaya intervening

 

* * *

 

ROSE:

Flushed: Kanaya

Caliginous: Empty

Pale: Dave, in a sense

Ashen: Empty

 

* * *

 

KARKAT:

Flushed: Terezi

Caliginous: Vriska… or John? </3<, perhaps

Pale: Gamzee (Kanaya, on occasion)

Ashen: Dave w/ Kanaya intervening

 

* * *

 

TEREZI:

Flushed: Karkat

Caliginous: Gamzee

Pale: Dave

Ashen: Vriska w/ Karkat intervening

 

* * *

 

VRISKA:

Flushed: Empty;

Crushes: Nicholas Cage/John Egbert

Caliginous: Karkat..?

Pale: Kanaya

Ashen: Terezi w/ Karkat intervening

 

Tune in next time for more, “God-awful Reckonings in this entire Meteor Fiasco,” season 2 finale in progression.


	5. Change of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We change gears and see how John is going, just to know if he has any knowledge of the drama on the meteor.

## 

**Intermission**

* * *

Gladly.

You spend no less time changing the perspective than changing who you actually are in the conundrum of hurdling through space at a relentless pace.

Speaking of that, who/where are you?

Your name is John Egbert, of course, who else would you find doing nothing on a Prospitan ship going through ~~Andrew’s manor~~ space just _slightly_ below the speed of light, all because of the green sun being too far away, apparently. And to answer your question, an absolute fuckton, at that.

You sigh, sitting on your couch after quite a bewildering sleep-session relating to your relationship with Karkat. All he wanted was some incredibly confusing correlation with you, caliginous, apparently. _You should be less fucking dense and actually indulge yourself into some rousing alien culture while you let your thinkpan rot on these dreadful cinema which lack the finesse the actual fucking world presents onto you,_ Karkat would say, and rightfully so.

You were bored out of your mind, and cracking into a book of this didn’t seem uninviting.

Except that you didn’t have any.

So you took the natural option:  Go to sleep and converse with his insightful dancestor, of course.

Ironically, it took much more work to go to sleep than imagined before, even if you did pass out on the driveway after lamenting about Con-Air being a shitty movie, and with Davesprite and whatnot. Laughable, really, it is.

Or not; you should go the fuck to sleep. But why your father kept such book around you was beyond you.

“Hello… John, is it?” Kankri inquired, pondering at your garbs, “and you have ascended, apparently.”

“Oh yeah, this old thing,” you laughed a small bit, “it’s quite the comfy piece of pajamas, even if it is to signify that I’m pretty much a god!”

“Yeah, in the ability sense, not the actual religious sense—” he shut his own mouth, letting out some blathering on ‘triggers.’

“Uh… did I say something wrong?”

“Oh no, I did something that would have jeopardized my trustworthiness when it comes to your preferred religion, since I was dawdling in the aspects which could rightly offend someone: The exact reason one of my social jurisdiction ranks would have to be quite aware of what they are about to utter, which I blatantly forgot. If I begin to trigger you in any sense, please do notify me of this misdemeanor in my words, since it is unforgivable. Now please, do state your business.”

“Well, I was a bit dumbfounded when Karkat said we were…” you hesitate, unable to remember it exactly as he said it, “kismersissles?”

“Oh, you mean the entire confusing system of romancing present in troll society, which in itself is not confounding, but to outsiders—like our language—is rather difficult to decipher.”

“Would you mind explaining _that_ to me?”

“I can do much more, John.”

“Oh boy!”

More like ‘Oh boy, let me sit my ass down for hours in my own dreaming just to endure this troll’s rants on a topic you suggested. Yay, I brought my own demise.’

“Starting with the utter basics in the topic, you have the four quadrants arranged in four boxes, of course, which are not just haphazardly placed. The vertical line represents if the relationship is based upon hatred, or affection, with the loathing being on bottom, and endearment on top, respectively. The horizontal line is determining if the relationship pertains to reproduction, or just pacifying one other: The concupiscent line, to be more precise. However, if someone takes a vow of celibacy, this line is only somewhat arbitrary since their affections may hold true, but their ways of life—which I am not going to shame, since I am one of them—differ from the norm.”

_Oh boy._

“In the affection-oriented half, we have the flushed and pale quadrants, both a shade of red to symbolize their positive influence. The flushed quadrant has an important role pertaining to empathy and compassion for their lover, pity, essentially. This is not ever-present in our society, and as a result, such a pair sticks out of the crowd, jutting out with purpose, though: Matesprits are not that uncommon, and such a ‘sore’ sticking out is normal. On the other side of this sector, we have the pale quadrant, dealing with the consoling of a partner in the platonic sense. Moirails, the title of this relationship, is an entirely beneficial correlation since they cannot live without each other; a symbiotic bond is formed in this fashion. The pair usually goes on adventures together, and dress-ups are not odd to see from this. This does not mean that they are perceived as a couple, but rather partners in the entire scheme of things on where they live, to be blunt. The two quadrants may be a necessity to a young troll, whom is in a great deal of pain.”

Oh my god.

“The hatred-centric sector is the entire polar opposite of the reds, and is portrayed in the black sense, the utter color of loathsomeness. The caliginous quadrant has a strong role in our society, since when I introduce the ashen quadrant, the intensity of the hate will be precedent; caliginous partners are meant to engage in this relationship to ensure that they will have the benefits of hating, and thus, having successful offspring: No matter how hard I try to enforce my point, the highbloods (which is only being stated in a referral sense, not discriminatory) and males, specifically, are amounted from this relationship. They _ensure_ they won’t kill each other, and have viable… _‘pails.’_ The ashen quadrant is the only one that has three members in it: Two extreme haters, and one to intervene. If one has to intervene, their job is to prevent them from decimating each other, and in turn, keep the alive so they can reproduce. Only the caliginous one is required, but having an ashen quadrant filled _may_ help in some boasting that I wish not to partake in.”

“Now that I have finished the base explanations, we may indulge in the variations of such.”

You wake up, cold sweat dripping from your pores. _It was a nightmare_ , you assure yourself, _it won’t be this bad later_. Yeah, because lying to yourself is the new fad on this sickly yellow ship.

At least you learned something. Oh wait, is that the knowledge literally slipping out of your ears? Or is the blood that came out when you listened to Kankri “preach?” Actually, you’re just exaggerating; nothing is coming out of your ears.

The bullshit in your mind isn’t coming out any time soon.


	6. It keeps happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see the elusive Strider coping with a heartbreak.... or is he?

## 

**Intermission**

* * *

**  
**  


Sure does.

Oh wait, were you referring to the perspective switch that occurred in the preceding chapter?

Yeah, _he’s got the message._

You wasted no time becoming the prick of extreme insufferableness, your robes casually crested over where you sat, adding to your look of utter irony. It would be time until you could say, “Dude don’t touch my cape.” Alas, Karkat had taken your bait, and you’re going to reel in a catfish relatively soon.

But what bait, you inquired.

The entire Terezi ploy: It was obvious that you never really felt that attracted to an alien chick that had candy corn for horns. Okay, maybe you loved her a little. She was cool, actually, scratch that—scratch and sniff _ironically_ cool.

You brought her fetch modus into this. Bitches can’t do shit about that.

Anyway, she brought you into this fiasco of a relationship because she thought you’d be a lovely “matesprit,” or some shit. She was dead wrong, and you compromised by being her monorail, or was it something else? You don’t have time to murk around in alien cultural nuances; you do, however, have time to murk around in the anatomical nuances present in your two vastly different cultures.

Asking Rose to get you a book like this is so fucking convenient.

You spend no less time looking at the blank cover than you flipping through the pages, straight through to the sexual reproductive system, not that you didn’t get a glimpse of it before. You stared at the language on the page, simply mumbling, “Fucking aliens and their illegible scribe.” You sighed, pulling a piece of paper from your pocket, its use far exceeding the recommended; it was crumbled beyond compare, even more so than the papers you used to stuff in your backpack when you went to grade school. It held a simple note diagram which had the Alternian alphabet on it, and its translations to the English lettering system. If you weren’t preoccupied with translation, it would strike to you as familiar.

“The genders in troll society are arbitrary, since how they are decided is not based on birthing principles, but rather their lusus… hormonal outbursts tell how for them to grow… grub scars are used to induce sexual excitement, since they are extremely sensitive… horns are the nervous system’s submission center,” you smirked at this,” perfect for Karkat... the vestigial mammillary sacs (or rumble spheres, in slang) are just that, vestiges, but sensitive ones at that… the bone protecting the bulge is why it is dubbed the bone bulge.”

Bingo was his name-o.

“It is only coaxed out of its sheath when the time requires it to, which to say, is impartial when it comes to when there is no consent: It still comes out. The bulge is a dimmed grey when flaccid, and it resides deep inside the cavity above the troll’s nook. When erect, however, it writhes out with the blood color the color of the erect member; it is not uncommon for it to be slippery and covered with genetic material, since the area it rests in is connected to their nook in only one sense: Through their internal bucket. On average, it holds one and one-third of a normal bucket’s capacity. The bulk of the material is distributed onto both sides of the troll, and will only occur when they meet someone suitable for their quadrants, otherwise they would lumber with their sides bloated with material, which has happened to some mutants: It amounted to immediate culling.”

There was a diagram on the other page, showing the anatomy of every nether part on a troll.

“Neat.”

You flipped the page and you see… an olive bulge, up close (and personal) and it’s… beautiful?

Yeah, no.

You proceeded to run out of your room yelling, “FACE FULLA ALIEN WANG. TRIGGER WARNING MOTHERFUCKERS.” It was not your brightest day.

“Dave, this is no behavior suitable for your coolkid stature,” Rose cocked her head at you with some annoyance.

“Yeah, the book you give me had this high-quality picture of a fucking alien tentacle. I’d like to see you try to not vomit when you see that for a prolonged piece of time.”

“Ahem, I have Kanaya.”

“Oh whoop-dee-doo, welcome to lesbian central, where the flower constantly has sex with the fashionista of another world. Fantastic plot, now give me a pen so I can jot these ideas down.”

“Who’d be the audience?”

“Myself, of course.”

“To indulge in the unprecedented irony of a lifetime?”

“No. I would rather create a giant orgy using my own temporal selves; biggest party of selfcest in the world.”

“I take that as the verbal irony known as sarcasm.”

“Who’d of thought?”

“The homosexual flower.”

“Yeah, put some cosmetics on, you’re wilting.”

“Oh hush. Your coolness faded away into a nullified slab ages ago.”

“Whatever.”

Your hands were placed in your pajamas pockets, shrugging the insult off. You two were technically siblings, by slime, at least, and rivalry of the sort was bound to happen, right?

We just don’t know.

You did have your “Bro,” which was only actually your half-brother and half-father, but insisted you call him Bro, since he was actually still quite young when he raised you. So if fighting on the rooftops with unbelievably shitty swords is considered sibling rivalry, you have a long way to go.

Light eons, metaphorically.

Welp, it’s already been a few minutes and you’ve already depleted the constructive things you could do.  It’s time to resort to… less than desperate measures.

There you were, sitting with a “stolen” husktop, it being Terezi’s, and having a beat already running on the smooth processor.

Yes.

Hell yes.

Hell fucking yes.

“Look at me here son, I’m the prime member to be havin’ some fun.”

“Looks so sharp and precise it already decapitates some mice.”

“Some might utter ‘that’s nice,’ or ‘do you need something for that burn, like ice?’”

“Man, my looks and appearance are not in peril, and are in decent condition to do some carols.”

“Now look at me, and see how your institution is no match to my kick-ass constitution and how your attacks are just lilliputian when it comes to my verbal electrocution since you can’t take my pollutin’ elocution since all you got is some ear-buds dilution since you can’t take what you can’t hear, and to me that’s trying to be a seer…”

You have compiled the shittiest raps into a single, horrific one. It is beautiful, so beautiful. You think you might cry in its wake.

Sniff, tear, sob.

You have recorded this, and using your ineptitude of skill in audio processors, have reduced the quality to be some technoesque shit.

And you started to play it on the entire meteor. Intercoms are always present. Always.


End file.
